Beaglemania (31 page)

“You’ve nailed it.” Garciana’s mouth lifted on one side, whether because he wanted to feign a grin or heartburn I wasn’t sure. “It certainly would explain how whoever’s been doing it all has gotten onto the property despite your having a security company on board.”

“There are other explanations, like Efram showed his killer how to circumvent the system the first time and the method is still working.”

“Maybe.” Garciana didn’t sound at all convinced. “Any idea who it could be?”

“You’re the detective,” I countered, trying to keep my tone reasonable instead of as explosive as I felt. “You should have figured it out by now and arrested the real bad guy.”

“I hear that a lot from people who want me to think they’re innocent. The problem is, ninety-nine percent of the time they’re the bad guys themselves. How about you, Ms. Vancouver?”

“This is the other one percent, Detective,” I assured him. But at the ironic skepticism he glared at me, I was sure my time to prove the truth to him was running out.

I’d have a lot of planning to do, but I intended to start on my hopefully last-ditch scheme to save myself right away.

It had taken over a week to get this event together, but it was still one of the fastest I’d ever accomplished—and I’d put together a lot of them, all over LA.

With the help of my excellent staff and volunteers, plus a hint to that obnoxious reporter Corina Carey, I’d gotten out the word about the HotRescues pet adoption fair in memory of Efram Kiley—and worded it with the tact of a politician up for reelection, without rubbing his dead face in the fact he had been involved with a horrendous puppy mill.

No, I wasn’t the world’s most despicable hypocrite. I was using Efram for my own purposes, just as he had abused animals for his. My intent was to get each of the people I suspected of his murder to appear, to at least feign grieving, and hopefully to say something that revealed the truth and exposed him or her as the killer.

I’d gotten all required permission to hold the event in O’Melveny Park, one of the largest in LA, which happened to be in Granada Hills not far from HotRescues. My team and I had brought a dozen dogs and nearly as many cats, mostly in crates. They included Honey, since the people who’d expressed interest in adopting her hadn’t yet followed through, poor baby. Or maybe it was just as well, if those folks were so unreliable.

The animals we’d carted here also included Sweety and Missy, from Efram’s puppy mill. They were just exiting quarantine and doing amazingly well, thanks to Carlie and lots of TLC at her veterinary clinic and HotRescues. Soon, they’d be ready to rehome. It didn’t hurt to display them to potential new owners now.

Naturally, the dogs didn’t stay in crates. We’d constructed holding areas surrounded by portable fencing, so a few pups were loose inside—the better to put their noses to the barrier and look wistful enough to attract possible adopters. Plus, our volunteers displayed them, one at a time, by taking them for walks through this area of the park, like models flaunting their assets on a runway.

I intended to go on some of those walks—later. Right now, I sat at a shaded table nearest the parking area, the better to see who joined us, at least from the area most likely to entice visitors. Fortunately, all my wounds had healed well enough by now that I barely felt them.

Nina was beside me. We’d brought along plenty of applications for people who were interested in adopting. Plus brochures that would tell them about HotRescues, our achievements, and our goals. We also had some bags containing pet food samples and other goodies from—where else?—HotPets.

We had called on a lot of our regular volunteers to join us, so they could ask our standard questions of potential adopters. I still needed to personally approve each adoption. Although it happened sometimes at our pet fairs, none would be finalized that day. But we often had success in getting people to become excited about animals they met at this kind of event and start the adoption process.

“This is such a good idea, Lauren.” Nina’s pleasure was contagious. Or maybe I just felt really proud of myself, killing two or more birds with one of this park’s stones. With luck, some of our residents would find new forever homes, thanks to this event.

And with even more luck, I’d get myself off the hook as a suspect in Efram’s murder.

“Thanks,” I said to Nina. “I just hope we’re really successful.” In all ways.

I decided to practice my intended routine on Nina. I did, after all, still maintain a page on her in my suspect file. Even though she was one of those I wanted in the worst way not to be guilty.

“I hope it’s not too tacky making this a memorial for Efram,” I said. I hadn’t expressly discussed it with my second in command before. I’d just told her that this was what I intended to do, then expressed my desire for her to help with it. “But my hope is that it’ll show what he himself never seemed to grasp: pets need to be taken care of, not harmed, and not left in shelters without someone to love them.”

“That’s what I thought you meant.” Nina’s face looked as bright and enthusiastic as I’d ever seen her. Her long brown hair was pulled back in a clip, emphasizing the leanness of her cheeks. Her curviness filled out her HotRescues T-shirt. I’d wondered often if she ever considered dating again. Despite my recent moments with Matt, I rarely did, and my miserable excuse for an ex-husband hadn’t abused me.

“I’ve thought long and hard about who could have killed him,” I continued. “Of course murder’s a heinous thing, especially since whoever did it is apparently willing to let me take the rap. But I can certainly understand why someone was angry enough with a man like him to wish him harm, don’t you?”

She looked at me with a defeated expression that suggested she thought I was about to accuse her. Which I wasn’t . . . directly.

“You know I do,” she said quietly. “I hated him because of what he did to animals, and because he threatened me for telling you about the puppy mill rescue. I wasn’t as sad as I should have been about what happened to him. But . . . I couldn’t have done it, even if I’d wished I could.”

“Of course,” I said.

An older couple approached our table, which sent a wave of ambivalence through me. This conversation was over, at least for now. And although I realized that Nina could be lying, I didn’t think so. I’d learned enough about her over the year she’d been working for me to get a sense of when she was fudging the truth.

I sent her off with the couple, who seemed emotionally overwhelmed about seeing so many homeless animals here. I had the impression they’d never visited a shelter. Did they want a pet? Maybe they would now, even if they hadn’t considered one before.

The area was crowded now with people who didn’t stay on any paths but approached the dog enclosures and cat crates with oohs and aahs I could hear from far away. Surely some of them would fall immediately and madly in love—hopefully good people who’d pass our adoption scrutiny. At least the weather was on our side, which it usually was in LA. Not too hot and not too cold; just right for attracting people to stroll around and, hopefully, fall for the pets of their dreams.

Our animal shrink, Dr. Mona Harvey, was there, flitting from one enclosure to the next. I was able to chat with her along with our vet tech, Angie Shayde, giving them similar spiels to what I’d talked with Nina about. They hadn’t liked Efram—or at least what he’d done—any better than I had. Admit here to killing him? Not quite.

I saw Captain Matt Kingston approaching from the side of our festival. He was another person I’d intended to sound out about how he felt about a memorial for Efram—and whether he could have been involved in the event that generated it.

He, even more than Nina, seemed to have no alibi for the night Efram was killed, or for the ensuing dangerous situations at HotRescues. He clearly had despised Efram as much as I had. But kill him?

Well, someone had, and the thing I was surest of was that it wasn’t me.

Matt had come in his official Animal Services uniform—khaki shirt, green slacks, and jacket with appropriate badge and patch.

He stopped long before he got to me and knelt outside one of the fenced-in areas. I stood. As I’d thought, that was the place that the animals from the puppy mill were now enclosed. I guessed he was doing his official duty and making sure they were well cared for.

Motioning to Bev, who’d just finished walking a sheltie mix, to take my place at the table, I headed toward Matt. He was still on his knees, his hand inside the enclosure where Missy and Sweety vied to sniff it. He turned his too sexy grin from them toward me.

“Glad you could make it,” I told him. “There’s been some interest in adopting those guys, but it’s too soon. I’ll let you know if anything comes of it.”

“Great.” He stood to face me. I’d noticed before how much taller than me he was, but he now seemed to marshal his height and stare down. “What’s this really about, Lauren? A memorial for a guy you despised?”

“It’s intended to send a message,” I said coolly. “That even if he couldn’t be rehabilitated while alive, at least there can be happy endings for some of the animals he abused. You know HotRescues would love to take in more of the moms, dads, or pups that were saved from the puppy mill, when Animal Services is ready for them to leave.”

“Right.” Matt cocked his head slightly, watching as if attempting to read what was actually inside my brain.

I could give him a hint . . . “Don’t you think that might be what the person who killed him intended? I mean, to teach not only him, but others who abused animals a lesson.” My turn to scrutinize him for a reaction.

“Sounds like a stretch,” he said. “But even so, I hope you’re successful here today.”

Me, too, I thought—in both of my endeavors.

Matt’s attitude and words had neither made him more of a suspect or less. I still had to mistrust him, for reasons including the Animal Services paperwork found near the back entrance on the day the pit bull had mysteriously appeared, but I didn’t really want to.

A tall, thin guy in shorts and sleeveless T-shirt jogged up to us. His dog, too—a leashed and panting Border collie. “Hi,” the guy said, addressing Matt. “What’s going on here?”

Matt quickly explained the adoption event while I bent and petted his companion. She looked up at me, and I smiled back. This obviously was a loved dog, and I sensed she understood how much better she had it than her enclosed cohorts around here.

As the two loped off, I watched, then realized Matt was watching me. “Cute,” I said. “And smart.”

“Border collie,” he responded. I nodded, hoping my wistfulness didn’t show. There was something about that kind of dog that spoke to me without saying a word. If ever I were to adopt a dog again myself . . . but not now.

Matt began to walk away, glancing back as if he assumed I would follow. I didn’t—mostly because I’d just spotted another of the people I’d hoped would be here that day, Ed Bransom of EverySecurity. He didn’t look as if he was there in any official role for his company, since he wore an LA Dodgers T-shirt over jeans. Since I’d seen him most often in his dark green uniform, I was a little surprised to see that he had well-toned muscles. I supposed that made sense for someone who was in the business of keeping customers safe.

It also moved him higher in my suspect assessment. The knife that had killed Efram was sharp, but even so, the person who’d wielded it needed strength behind it. Plus, it had taken some strength to move those pet food bags around for the Honey incident.

Whatever his reason for being there, it apparently wasn’t because he intended to adopt a pet. Nor had I called him to help with any security here.

“Hello, Lauren,” he said. “What the hell is going on? I’ve heard from our main office that Dante DeFrancisco is considering other security companies for HotPets and your little shelter. Is that your doing?”

Yes, I’d finally had a conversation with Dante. Despite his long-term friendship with the EverySecurity CEO, he’d promised to consider alternatives . . . under the circumstances.

“I think it’s a wise course of action,” I told him. “You seem to have the idea that everything your company should have prevented at HotRescues was my doing. It wasn’t. A parting of the ways is more than appropriate.”

I still hadn’t heard a viable explanation or excuse for the slipup in the Honey matter—except to blame me. Plus, Bransom also blamed me, vocally, for the unwelcome pit bull visit. Even if he was innocent of everything that had happened, he couldn’t have been surprised that I wanted his company gone. But the fact that Dante so far was on my side and was looking at other options for his entire business empire? That might have annoyed this dismal excuse for a security advisor, more than a little.

Another reason for him to become an even weightier suspect. Yet why would he have killed Efram in the first place? Just because the guy had shown up at HotRescues in the middle of the night? Bransom didn’t appear to care whether someone was abusing animals, unless he was paid to pretend to give a damn. But to protect his own butt, or his job . . . ?